Divided He Falls
by Pixelfun20
Summary: When America stepped onto the rooftop of the World Meeting Building, he hadn't expected to find someone already there. And he certainly didn't expect to find himself talking them out of jumping to the ground below. One(Perhaps two)-shot
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My hands slipped. Several thousand times.**

 **On another note, I put a lot of symbolism into this piece. Try to figure it out, and post in review or PM what you think it means. I'll probably publish another chapter explaining this one, since their isn't a lot of background here. Anyways, please enjoy the story!**

 **Warning:** **Major Character Death**

 **EDIT: Man, I swear I had credited the song I used haha! It's name is _"My R,"_ or _"Watashi no R,"_ which I found on YouTube. The person who covers it (And the English lyrics that I use) is Hikaru Station. The original song she credited it to was KurageP, but her version was in Japanese, so obviously I couldn't use that. I've removed the lyrics thanks to a guest reviewer (though I would have preferred it to be through PM. If you see this guest, please PM me if you have an account because I am slightly confused). If you want to listen as you read, look it up **

* * *

My footsteps echo up the stairwell. The air was cold and crisp from not being used much, and it sharpens my mind as it cuts into my lungs. My hand is clenched tight on the railing, letting the cold metal seep into my slippery palm.

I make my way up the last few steps, and find myself staring at a metal door. Not a heavy one—in fact, I bet I could break it if I tried—but in the moment it seems imposing, a heavy barrier between myself and the freedom I would receive on the other side. I take a deep breath, and let it go, taking my hand off of the railing and setting it on the handle of the door. _Come on! Why am I so afraid?_

I shake myself and open the door, being met with a gray overcast sky and a harsh wind buffeting me. I blink, then shrug it off and step out onto the rooftop. The is a waist-high guard rail across the edge, but I'm not worried. I bend down, ready to take off my shoes, when a flash of cloth catches my eye.

I look up to see a boy, a couple years younger than me, staring contemplatively off of the edge, on the opposite side of the guard rail, so close to the edge that his toes peek over the side. He hasn't noticed me yet, but before I know it, the words are slipping out of my mouth. Because I know what this boy is going to do.

"Hey, don't do it. Please!"

The boy looks over to me, surprised that someone had caught him up here as he was about to jump. I don't blame him. I don't come up here often myself. What a coincidence.

Then the anger rises in me. I had wanted to be up here alone! Why did this boy have to ruin my plans? I clench my fists and force myself to school my expression into one of indifference.

The boy doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at me, mouth working but nothing coming out. I notice, then, that he's was quite small for his age, and there is a streak of dirt on his cheek. How did he get dirty here, in the middle of the city? I dismiss the question. It doesn't matter, not as much as his age does. He has to be, like, fifteen, but looks to weigh as much as someone several years younger. What is a kid like him doing out here? I want to ask him, but at the same time don't want to pry. Whatever reason he has to be up here, it has to be good, right?

Then I shake my head. No, I didn't care. This boy could do whatever he wanted. Nothing he did could compare to what I have done.

Then the small boy spoke.

"My brother always said that he would be with me through thick and thin," the small boy speaks, eyes staring off into the distance. His voice is thick with grief. "He said that he knew what was best for me. But he kept on hurting me and wouldn't listen when I asked him to stop, especially when I told him that I needed something more. I tried to work on my own and he… left me. Now all I have are people who want to know me for what I own, not for who I am. What point is there to go on when all people see you as is something to get rich off of?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," I hiss. Now, I can't keep the anger off my face, and I scowl. "That's the reason you're here today? Come on! That's most likely one of the stupidest reasons I've ever heard." I scoff. "No, that's not even a reason. That's just an excuse."

The boy looks even more surprised, but says nothing, just dragging his bright, sky-blue eyes to stare into mine. They unsettle me for a moment, but I'm going now. It's rare when I let out my feelings like this, and I'm not about to stop.

"Honestly, you act like you've never gotten robbed of anything! If you think you have it bad, kid, you have another thing coming. Honestly, I just can't believe that you got here before me." I point to the door leading back into the stairwell. "You go home and figure out a way to get those people to pay attention to you. Rise through the ranks. Make it so everyone _has_ to recognize you for who you are. One day, they will respect you and see you for the person you really are."

"You think so?" The small boy murmured.

"Even your brother should eventually come back to you. I should know."

The boy then smiles softly, staring up into the overcast sky. He leans back on the railing that separates the two of us, moving away from the edge.

"I'm feeling much better," the boy chuckled airily. "Thank you for listening. I think I'll try your advice."

He then lunges forwards, and before I can stop him, has jumped. I rush to the railing and peer over the edge, trying to spot him. Nothing. Just empty air until the sidewalk below. From this height, people are only specks on the ground below. Not that there's a lot of them.

I smile to myself, realizing who I had just encountered.

"You better keep on living, kid," I chuckle. "I can't have you going off just because of a flimsy excuse like that." I turn away from the edge. The moment's been ruined. I can't do what I wanted to now.

I'll come back tomorrow.

* * *

The door opens again, and this time, there's humidity in the air. I look up, noting the light, still-gray clouds that dotted the sky. The storm last night had been intense, but it had passed in a matter of hours. I walk onto the rooftop, letting the cool sunshine warm my face, before bending down and taking off my shoes.

Something catches my eye, and I sigh as I see another boy on the other side of the guard rail. He's a year or two older than the kid from yesterday, more filled out, and much taller. A pair of glasses, thinly rimmed, adorn his nose. Also different from the kid yesterday is that he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest. He's just shouting insecurity, and I have to force back a slight chuckle.

"Hey, kid." The boy in the glasses is not a kid, but I address him as one anyways, knowing he is much younger than me. I sit down next to him, and now we're only separated by the guard rail. "What's up?"

He seems to know what I'm asking, but it takes him a moment to respond. In the meantime, I sigh. More than anything, I wanted this rooftop to be empty for just one afternoon. I guess it was too much to ask.

No one likes me," the boy in the glasses sighes. "All of my colleagues take every chance to ridicule me. They steal my items and don't let me present in meetings. No one has ever asked to go out to lunch with me, so I eat alone. I'm fat, so I exercise to try and impress them, but they don't notice or say I'll go back to the point I started within a month.

"My friends tell me I'm dumb, so I go to college and receive doctorates in physics and medicine, but they don't believe me. They tell me I can't strategize, so I join the army and fight war after war to keep them safe, but they tell me to stop butting into their business. I leave them alone, but then they ask why I'm not helping them. They tell me to stop fighting their battles, so I do, but then they drag me back in anyways. I can't please them, so what's the use of going on?"

I say nothing for a moment, digesting the words, and shake my head. Even though I can't see the boy in the glasses from my position, I imagine he's still wallowing in his self-pity. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," I hiss. I find myself repeating the same speech I had given the small boy yesterday. "That's the reason you're here today? Come on! That's most likely one of the stupidest reasons I've ever heard." I scoff. "No, that's not even a reason. That's just an excuse."

There's a shift behind me, I feel the boy's eyes on the back of my head.

"You're loved by everyone at home, aren't you?" I cry, emotion and envy trickling into my voice despite my best attempts to filter it out. "Everyone back home is rooting for you. They care for you and will support you as long as you do your best. Who cares what your colleagues think!? They're just jealous and you don't need their approval. Why are you here on this rooftop when I can refute your excuses so easily?! Go home and smile. You need to be strong for them."

"It's my birthday soon," the kid whispers, voice choked with emotion. I stand up and the boy in the glasses follows. I notice with a start that he's crying. He raises a hand and wipes his eyes, careful not to jostle the lens perched on his nose. He smiles, much like the boy from the day before. "Thank you."

I shrug. "I just can't have people doing things without the appropriate reason," I replied, schooling my face back into one of indifference.

The boy in the glasses laughs and hops off the edge of the building. I turn away and head towards the door to the stairwell, knowing that he will never hit the ground.

The moment had been ruined again.

I'd come back tomorrow.

* * *

But I didn't do what I had planned to do tomorrow. Or the day after that. Every afternoon that I went onto the rooftop, there was someone there, sitting or standing on the opposite edge of the guard rail and about to jump. Every time I met them, I talked them out of doing what they were contemplating. But at the same time…

" _Hey! Another one of your tourists ruined my day today! Keep your people in check, bastard!"_

" _Really, you must keep your promises, aru. Or people won't trust you anymore."_

" _Don't speak French anymore, child. I don't want to keep hearing you butcher it."_

" _Is it just me, or have you gained another ten pounds since I last saw you? It must be all of you burgers, da?"_

" _Can't you—can't you just be_ normal _?! Let me live my own life!"_

No one ever showed up for me. I always helped the people I met, but there was never anyone for me to vent to. Was it selfish to wish that someone could understand _me_? To actually try and get to know who I really was, not the obnoxious facade I put up every day?

Finally, I came to the conclusion that it was. After all, no one ever bothered to try and help me.

And so, I discarded the idea of getting help.

* * *

I open the door to a pure, blue sky. There is a slight breeze that made the sun's rays bearable, and I let out a breath, relaxing ever so slightly in the perfect weather. I pause for a moment, looking for the person who would be here today.

It was easy to spot him. He isn't hiding, or trying to remain unseen as some of the past people had been. He is right in front of me, back on the opposite side of the guard rail, in a faded, ratty old bomber jacket. He is staring off into the skyline of the city, and it is then that I notice that he looks similar to me. Same yellow hair, tanned skin, and part of me knew he would have the same murky blue eyes that I did, if turned around to face me. But we weren't the same.

Were we?

"I just want to stop the scars that grow every time that I go home," the boy monotoned, not needing me to ask him why he was here. A cold pit of ice grew in my stomach. And I notice, that if I look close enough, there are bandages hidden under his clothing. "They hurt me. They fight among each other and I'm the one caught in the crossfire. Those at home want the same things, but they won't talk to each other and choose to hurt me instead. My colleagues have not changed. Still they ridicule me. I don't pay attention to them anymore. My brother is no longer my brother. He never came back to me after I left him. My other brother… prefers not to speak with me. That's why I came up here instead. Better than facing the world below us."

 _No…._ The day I had dreaded had finally come. There is nothing I can do for this bandaged boy in the old bomber jacket. Finally, I had met someone with the same pains as me.

And I have no idea what to do to convince him to not make the jump over the edge of the building. There is no reason not to, nothing tying him down to reality, but something in me desperately wants him to stay here with me.

* * *

"Hey, don't do it. Please!" The words I had spoken the small boy that first day on the rooftop slipped out of my mouth. Something finally broke inside of me, and in a cruel twist of fate, I am the one crumpled on the ground, crying my eyes out, while the boy in the old bomber jacket watches me emotionlessly.

Hot tears trickle down my face and I struggle to wipe them away. The routine! I have to stick to the routine that I had made in these past afternoons while on the rooftop. Convince him not to jump. It doesn't matter that he had every reason to. I can't let him go.

"I don't care if you have a valid reason to jump!" I finally cried out, staring at the ground and unable to look the boy in the bomber jacket in the eye. "Just go away! I just can't stand to see that pitiful expression on your face any longer!"

I clench my fists and close my eyes. This boy wouldn't listen to me. Part of me just knew it. I had no reasoning to get him to not do what he wants to do.

Then there was a pattering of feet, and a solitary pair of footsteps pass me by. I blink the tears away in shock, raising my head to see the empty guard rail. There is no longer anyone there, replaced with the gentle breeze.

"I guess today's just not my day." There is an opening and closing of a door, and the boy in the bomber jacket goes down the stairwell and to safety at last.

* * *

No one. There is no one here. I had looked the rooftop over three times already to come up empty-handed. Part of me was wondering whether I have broken the cycle with the boy in the bomber jacket, but I know that this isn't the case. I am alone. It is my turn to be the boy on the other side of the guard rail. Would someone come to save me? Maybe. Maybe not.

I walk forwards and take off my shoes, setting them neatly on the ground in a silent cry of farewell, and climb over the guard rail. I clasp both hands to it to make sure I don't fall just yet, and look to the ground. It's a long way—seven stories, actually—but I had never been afraid of heights. There's not a lot of people below, which is good.

I prepare myself slowly, continuing to wait for the person who would stop me. First goes the old bomber jacket, slung over the railing. Second is my glasses, gently setting them on the ground, taking a moment to remember the long-deceased little boy who had given them to me. I look over myself. I've grown and filled out a lot since my young teenage years, I muse, but the scars have accumulated well enough. Then I stand there and resolve to wait five more minutes for someone to save me. My mind wanders as I wait.

 _It's good I decided to take off Texas. I don't want to desecrate his memory by letting his old glasses shatter._

Four minutes.

 _I wonder why my jacket survived so long. It's been nearly eighty years, and I'd worn it nearly every day until the 1960s, when it started to fall apart. I wonder how much longer it'll survive without me._

Three minutes.

 _I should've asked Lithuania to take care of my cat when I'm gone. It would've raised suspicions, but I don't want Hero to go hungry._

Two minutes.

 _The sky sure is beautiful today. I'm glad I didn't do this on the first day. I don't think I would've liked jumping at the onset of a storm._

One minute.

 _Why isn't anyone coming?_

The timer was up. I glance over my shoulder to the door to the stairwell, but it is still closed firmly. I sigh, for the first time reconsidering the decision that I had made so long ago. My chest is twisting, and I know that I don't want to do this. My mind flies back to what awaits me if I go downstairs, and what the boy in the bomber jacket had said to me yesterday comes back all at once.

" _That's why I came up here instead. Better than facing the world below us."_

I steel myself and suck in one long breath, letting it out slowly, and send a prayer up to God. I hadn't prayed in decades, not since Pearl Harbor, but I hope He will forgive me for that.

I chuckle nervously and take one last look towards the midafternoon sun.

"And so the hero falls."

I jump.

* * *

Canada frowned, running across the plaza. Right behind him, he felt France's footsteps echo his own. He was running back to the World Meeting building, trying to hurry.

"You think we have time?" France asked. Canada nodded.

"Yeah. If we hurry."

As the building came into sight, Canada noticed a crowd of people, along with several police cars, along the base of the building. He slowed, looking over at the scene. France followed his lead, looking over at the sight.

"What happened?" the northern nation asked. France shrugged.

"A robbery, perhaps?" He shrugged, and started moving again. "It's probably nothing. Come, we have to go get your phone before America's birthday party begins, remember? Do you remember where you left it?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go!" Then the two nations rushed into the World Meeting Building to find the Canadian's lost phone.


	2. Chapter 2

" _Please… don't go…"_

 _Rebecca sighed, turning her head to face her father. She smiled, despite the fact that she had been bedridden for several weeks now, and took his hand. She squeezed it weakly, and he squeezed back with three times as much force, although he didn't hurt her while doing so, thank goodness._

 _Each breath hurt, though. Her sight was slightly blurry, and Rebecca had to blink several times to get rid of the black that was creeping up in the edges of her vision._

 _Her father's face blinked in and out of her vision, but Rebecca could perfectly imagine the creases of worry across his brow, and the tears that were quickly building up in his eyes. She didn't like it when he cried, and couldn't really understand why he was doing so now. They had known ever since she had been occupied by him that it would only be a matter of time before she was formally dissolved. Rebecca herself had cried at first, but now she felt only peace._

 _So why couldn't her father? She didn't want her last memory of him to be him crying over her bedside._

" _Don't cry, Pa," she forced the words past her lips, them rasping painfully on her tongue. "I'm happy. Don't worry."_

" _No. No, I can't let you go. I'll call Fillmore! I never should have let him go through with this. I've already lost Gaho and Thomas and Feli and… and…" his voice dissolved into sobs, and Rebecca squeezed his hand again. She didn't know who 'Feli' was. She didn't think it important enough to ask._

" _Pa, I'm going to be a part of you. It's all I've ever wanted."_

" _That's what they all said!"_

"Pa. _My people are going to be much happier under you than…" she paused, her strength beginning to fade. "...Me. I_ want _this."_

" _I love you, baby," was her father's only response. He bent over, cradling her head. "28 years, 'Becca. That's how long I've had you. You grew up so fast, I could barely keep up."_

" _Runs in the genes, I suppose," Rebecca chuckled loosely._

" _This is so unfair. I haven't had you for nearly long enough, and you're already leaving this Earth. I promise to remember you, but when I think of all these years you could've had ahead of you…"_

" _Those years were never going to happen, Pa. I was promised to you from the moment I was old enough to walk and we both know it."_

" _It's unfair."_

 _Her father seemed even more far away now. Rebecca wanted to get closer, to hear him better, but something was dragging her down, down, down._

" _Promise me." She forced her lips to move, for breath to pass through them. "You gotta stay happy. It's makes everything better, ya know. So stay… stay happy. For me and Thomas and Joseph."_

" _I promise, California. On my name as the United States of America and by God's name, I promise."_

 _Rebecca's lips twitched upwards, and she let herself relax into Alfred's arms. Her life was so odd, she reflected with a laugh. She was 28 years old, looked sixteen, had a father who looked nineteen, and was currently dying._

 _But she was happy. With her father to remember her and her brother, to protect her people after she was gone, she was truly happy._

 _And finally, the darkness overwhelmed her, and Rebecca could no longer breathe; no part her body seemed to want to obey her. A momentary flare of panic rushed through the teenager before fading into peace again. Happy. She was happy._

 _Then Rebecca Jones, representative of the late Republic of California, knew no more._

* * *

And suddenly, Rebecca's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Her hands flew to her chest as she coughed and hacked, blinking reflexive tears out of her eyes. She felt as if she hadn't moved for decades, her muscles protesting and joints popping as her arms moved. It was both painful and liberating at the same time, an odd sensation she couldn't even begin to fathom.

After a couple minutes, her coughing finally subsided slightly, and she blinked her eyes open before shutting them again to shield herself from the blinding light around her. She waited a moment, then cracked the lids open, little by little and adjusting her pupils to the light. Then, she looked around to take in her surroundings.

It was a bright, sunny day. There were trees all around her, and a fence some feet away. Rebecca was lying face-up on the dirt ground, so she forced herself into a sitting position with a groan, bones cracking as her spine snapped back into place. She looked down, and noted that she was still wearing the dress she had worn the day she'd died, a white, loose dress, with no shoes or socks. Her hands flew up reflexively to her hair, and instantly she was greeted with her smooth, curly brown hair.

"Am I dead?" She murmured, looking around, half expecting to see her father and their house around her instead of this strange place. She certainly didn't _feel_ dead. Instinctually, she found herself reaching out to her people.

And suddenly there was a force so strong it knocked the breath out of her. Momentarily, Rebecca couldn't breathe from feeling so many people inside of her head, all shining lights, so bright that she could barely think. With a low cry, she forced herself back into her own body with a shiver.

What was _that_? So many people… Rebecca had never felt so many in her life; she could barely comprehend it. Millions. Millions and millions of people. Hundreds of millions! Billions! She didn't understand. She only had 92,000 citizens, and even with all of the gold that people were trying to find on her land, she knew that there could never be so many people who belonged to her. It was maddening, and she could barely hold back them back from overwhelming her now.

"Hey, lady. Why are you on the ground?"

Rebecca blinked, turning around to see a girl, around ten years old or so, come into view, looking confused. She had dirty blond hair that fell around her shoulders, and more shockingly of all was wearing _men's_ clothing, of all things! Pants and all!

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The girl asked after a moment, crossing her arms as Rebecca stared at her with wide eyes. "Why are you dressed so weird?"

 _Why are_ you _dressed so weird?_ Rebecca almost asked the question, but another one, much better to ask, popped into her mind.

"Excuse me," she asked, voice scratching in her throat from lack of use. "Where am I?"

The child gave her a strange look. "You're in Walnut Creek, stupid, at the park. Right east of San Francisco. Where else?"

Walnut Creek? She had never heard of such a place, and she knew every city and town in her land, just as she knew exactly where San Francisco was. What was going on?

"What… what day is it?" She asked. "I've forgotten." _Please be September 9th, 1850. Please be September 9th, 1850._

"July 4th, 2018. Are you dumb or something?"

2018

 _2018._

 _Two thousand and eighteen._

"I'm alright," she whispered, though she was feeling as if she had been punched in the chest. "I'm alright. You can go."

"Good to know," the girl shrugged. She pivoted on her heel and turned back the way she came, disappearing into the trees. Rebecca didn't watch her leave, instead digging her fingers into the dusty, dry dirt she knew all too well, taking comfort that it was still the same, at least.

168 years. She had been dead? in a coma? sleeping? for 168 years. If the girl was right. But Rebecca knew she was. Somehow, she just _knew_ , like she did when talking to any of her citizens.

"Pa? Where are you?" She asked herself. Just moments ago, she had been in his arms, but that couldn't be right. It had been 168 years. He had most likely left their house over a century ago.

But that brought up a very important question.

Why was she suddenly alive again?

There were so many people digging at the edges of her consciousness, she could hardly ignore them. Finally, she dove back into the billions of souls that she now represented, letting them wash over her like a tsunami. She buckled under the weight of it, struggling to keep her consciousness in this sea of people, but she forced herself to focus on who everyone she was feeling belonged to.

Of course, it was most likely her, since she was feeling them. But it never hurt to be safe.

Italian. Russian. Ethiopian. Colombian. Japanese. Vietnamese. Thai. Indian. Danish. English. They all ran over her head, different in body type, ethnicity, and culture. And yet, there was something there that connected them, something extremely strong. She focused on this overarching theme through her people, and came out with one word.

 _American._

American. America. These were her Pa's people!

Her eyes widened with shock and she tore herself out of the sea of people in shock. Why was she feeling her Pa's country? That would never happen, unless…

Unless…

 _No. Nononononononononono._

But she couldn't deny it. It all clicked into place and she couldn't deny that it was true.

And Rebecca Jones, former representative of the Republic of California and the current representative of the United States of America, collapsed into herself and sobbed.

* * *

 **Well… that just happened. Yes, I know that chapters one and two are very different (and yes, I know that chapter 2 is worse). I guess I'll explain the thought processes behind both parts of the story now.**

 **The Whole Story:**

 **Present tense vs past tense:** I don't usually write in present tense (it's weird and awkward for me) but I found myself writing first person during Alfred's portion of the story. Why? It's simple: Alfred is living in the last days before his death. Why would the story be in past tense when he won't be around to talk about it afterwards? That's why Rebecca and Matthew's segments are written in past tense: they live through their story. If that makes any sense.

 **First person vs third person:** Pretty much the same reasoning as above. What you're seeing in Alfred's segment is occuring as you read it, while Matthew and Rebecca's parts are occurring as reflections. Crap I suck at explaining things like this.

 **Alfred's Segment:**

 **The Three Boys:** These are all past versions of Alfred, during the three (main) occasions he contemplated suicide during his life. Every time, however, he convinces himself not to jump (for he always knew that if he was going to die it would be in that fashion; he always loved flying) due to the reasons the present Alfred gives them. Of course, these three boys don't actually exist in the present. They're figments of Alfred's imagination as he recalls the times he wanted to jump before.

 **The Small Boy:** Post-Revolution America, taking place in the years between his independence (1783) and the ratification of the Constitution (1789). Maybe it's a surprising choice for some of you readers, but think about it. Alfred has just become independent, yes, but he's lost a lot. Family? He has none, Canada and England disowned him when he revolted. Friends? None. Remember that the real reason France supported him was to weaken England, and Prussia had the same motives. His country was falling apart thanks to the weakness of the Bill of Rights and no one seemed to care. And he was only a kid; by this point in time, Alfred has been relatively sheltered by Britain. The shock of war and the sudden pressure to survive on your own is a bit much for any teenager.

 **The Boy in Glasses:** This may also be a bit of a surprise when I tell you that this takes place over a wider span of time, during 1930s and 1940s. Sure, this was the period of time when America became a superpower, but that also means a lot of sudden responsibility. When the stock market crashed in 1929, imagine the crushing guilt he would've felt for 'initiating' a global depression, especially one that hit him and his own brother extremely hard. And WW2? Pearl Harbor, the nukes, and the Holocaust. Afterwards, he would want to work hard to try and rectify his mistakes, but by now the world was beginning to turn on him and were beginning to become resentful of him and his power. 'Nuff said about that.

 **The Boy in the Bomber Jacket:** This takes place a lot closer to the present, during the 2016 elections and basically the entire year of 2017, when Alfred really fell apart. The whole world seems to hate him, his own people are tearing each other apart, and he feels he has no one to turn to. At least during the 1930s and 40s, he had his own people to rely and trust on, but now even they have seemed to have abandoned him. His country has never been so divided before, save for during the civil war (but even then it was only the South who wanted to secede. Now both sides seem to hate him). And it's crucial to remember that Alfred, for a nation, is _young_ and emotionally fragile. At this point, he can't convince himself not to jump. It's only habit not to. Until one July day, in the year 2018…

 **The Storm:** The Civil War and the later reconstruction of the country.

 **Murky Blue Eyes:** Just to poke at the similarities between Alfred and the Boy in the Bomber Jacket, and their lost will to live.

 **The Bandages:** Side effects of having such a divided people. Terrorism and violent riots in his own country (such as the Orlando and Las Vegas shootings) have been having an adverse effect on his own body, injuring it.

 **California's Segment:**

 **Why do California and Texas Exist?:** Easy, they were countries, so they would've been around for at least a little bit. Texas was a country until 1946, when he agreed to join the union. Then he passed on his trademark pair of glasses (hence why he calls them Texas) to his 'father', America, and died peacefully. His name was Thomas Jones. California's story was the same, except much quicker: She was only a country for around a month and a half after gaining independence.

 **Why did California Revive?:** Well, _someone_ had to represent the USA. Alfred had, to put it bluntly and crudely, quit his job. He doesn't want to revive, doesn't want to go back to the life he was living. Thus, nature turned to the next most suitable candidate to represent the USA: California.

 **Why Not Texas?:** Well, California was the last country to be annexed by America (not counting Hawaii, but that's a whole different story. Her representative was never really affiliated with Alfred). California's former country is also one of the most influential states in the union today.

 **Why did California Revive in a Place Like Walnut Creek?:** Why not? Places like Walnut Creek are small cities (not too big, not too small) that make up what I believe to be the true spirit of America. Why Walnut Creek exactly? Well, the place caught my attention while I surfed Google Maps. It seemed like a quaint little town, so I chose it. The reason Rebecca doesn't know about Walnut Creek is because it was incorporated into the state around the year 1914.

 **Well… I guess that's it. Um… I hope you liked this short story. The second chapter was more of a plot bunny, so if anyone wants to write a story about Rebecca becoming the USA or something, please PM me, because it'd certainly be something I'd read.**

 **Anyways, I'll see you all some other time, I suppose. I guess I'll check this for typos later, so if you find any, please let me know.**


End file.
